


Saving Sam

by hunter_king



Series: Supernatural - Wincest [34]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 01:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunter_king/pseuds/hunter_king
Summary: John and Sam have been dating for almost a year now, and in the beginning, it was great. However, over the last few months, John has gotten violent, beating Sam almost every night. In his injured, broken state, Sam turns to Dean, John's son, for comfort, ultimately falling in love with him. Now, Dean's on a mission to get Sam as far away from his father as he can before he loses him forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the first challenge at twistedspn

His whole body ached as he lay in the fetal position on the dingy bathroom floor. The maids hadn't been in yet this week, so the floor had been collecting filth since last Friday, it now being late Wednesday night. And John Winchester was anything but tidy, not that he couldn't afford to be. After all, he was one of the top ten richest men in the country.

Perhaps that was why his father wanted him to be with John So much. Of course, his father had no idea John hit him. Hell no. If Bobby Singer had even an inkling that his son was in an abusive relationship, the man hitting his son wouldn't have any unbroken fingers or toes. He was fine with the fact that his son was a homosexual, dating someone almost thirty years his senior, but he would not tolerate anyone turning Samuel Singer into a beaten housewife.

Slowly, Sam lifted himself off the floor, feeling his skin pulling from the tiles where he was sticky with blood. Thankfully, John had left for the bar about twenty minutes ago, though Sam had stayed on the floor, scared that maybe he had been hearing things and John was just lying in wait somewhere ready to hit him again after he stood. But there was a small voice inside his head telling him he was just being paranoid.

Sighing, he stepped over to the mirror, looking at his reflection. His left eye was swollen shut, deep purpling bruises marring the skin around it. He also had a cut above his right eyebrow and his nose was bleeding, along with his split lip. Add in the either severely sprained or fractured right wrist, and Sam had to admit this was a pretty good night. At least there were no broken ribs this time. And he didn't have to worry about getting a ride to the hospital this time. All in all, it was not as bad as it could have been.

Licking his lips, hissing in slight pain as his tongue dragged over the wound in his lower lip, Sam tore his gaze away from the mirror, not really feeling like looking at himself anymore. He wasn't like he used to be. Not since John started hitting him. And to be honest, he didn't like the person staring back at him when he looked in the mirror these days. But what was he supposed to do about it? Leave? There was no way John wouldn't come looking for him. No way John would give up that easily.

Gently, his actions slow and careful, Sam pulled off his shirt, hissing in a breath when he had to move his injured wrist in a rather uncomfortable position so he could get the fabric up over his head and toss it into the corner, vowing to grab it before he went to bed. Getting his jeans open with one hand was a hard task, but he managed it after a lot of frustrating growls and pained groans when he used both of his hands, tossing his jeans and boxers onto the growing pile of clothing in the corner of the room. 

Once all of his clothes were off, he turned on the shower, fiddling with the knobs until he got the temperature just right. He then stepped under the warm spray, tilting his head back, eyes, or well, eye, as is more accurate, squeezed tightly closed as he allowed the water to flow over him, mixing with the blood covering him, turning a grotesque pink color before it slid down the drain. Slowly, he moved to press his palm against the shower wall, allowing his injured wrist to lay limply at his side, moaning softly as he felt the water beating against his aching back. There may not have been any broken bones or bruising on his torso, but Sam's back was still hurting like no one's business, and the water helped to dull some of the ache.

He took a much longer shower than he needed, knowing that John would be out until the wee hours of the morning so he didn't have to worry about getting bitched at for using all of the hot water. It felt nice to just relax and be allowed to run the rag slowly over his injured face and achy body, usually having to rush to get done before he made John mad. Generally, he tried to wait until John wasn't around to shower, but sometimes his lover would demand that he either shower at one particular moment or get in at the same time as he was in where he would have to worry about being groped the whole way through.

About thirty minutes later, Sam emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips. He slowly made his way to the dresser, grabbing up a pair of his boxers and a pair of light gray sweat pants with the Stanford logo on the right pant leg. Those days had been better times, back when he had been experimenting with his sexuality. Back when he had been with Jess.

She was a sweet girl, and Sam had spent his first year of college with her, before he learned that he was into men. However, throughout the year they were dating, he knew they weren't meant to be together. He loved her, sure, but it was more of a love like a brother showed for his sister. Not a lover. So, he broke it off, explaining to her that he thought he was gay. Surprisingly, she took it very well, even going as far as to introduce him to a friend of hers, Brady, whom he later dated for two years. He was sure Brady was the one, only to have his hopes of living together and starting a family shattered when the car accident happened, taking the lives of Jess, his best friend, and Brady, his boyfriend all in one night.

Sam had survived, walking away with a minor concussion and a few broken bones. 

The sound of someone's voice rang through the air, splitting Sam's thoughts, his heart rate picking up as he scrambled to pull on his clothes, tossing the towel into the hamper. John was back? But why? It was only twelve thirty. He usually stayed until close and then drove around looking for some all night nude bar where he would stay until dawn. So, why was he home now?!

Quickly, Sam ran down the stairs, almost tripping in his haste to get to John, knowing that if he didn't get his ass down there in a timely fashion, John would hit him again. And he had been through enough of that for one week. Actually, he had been through enough of it for one lifetime, but even as he kept telling himself this was just a phase and John would get over it and go back to the man he had once been in love with, deep down Sam knew better. Knew John was never going to change.

As he reached the last stair, his heart slowed, all the fear draining from his body when he saw who was really home. "Dean, hi. I thought you were John," Sam greeted, ducking his head in hopes that Dean wouldn't see the damage John had done to his face. 

Dean's face lit up with a smile when he saw Sam padding down the stairs, having thought he wasn't home when he first walked in the door, taken note that his father's car wasn't outside. However, when he saw Sam's face, the bruises, the cuts, his face fell, frown marring his handsome features. Slowly, he reached for Sam, pressing thumb and index fingers against Sam's chin, tilting his head upwards and towards the light so he could get a better look. 

Shaking his head, Dean growled, "He did this to you, didn't he?" Dean took Sam's silence as a 'yes.' "Sonuvabitch, I'm going to fucking kill him!"

Sam's eyes widened when Dean threatened to kill John, hand shooting out to grab at Dean before he could get too far, only to pull it back, nearly screaming in pain. Dammit, he forgot about his injured wrist, and now Dean was going to be even more pissed off. Cradling his wrist against his chest, Sam reached out to Dean with his left hand, fingers curling around the leather sleeve of his jacket. 

"Dean, come on, don't...make a big deal out of it," Sam begged, champagne hazel orbs pleading as they met and locked with jade green. "I'm fine. I'll heal. I always do. Just...please, let it go. Please? For me?"

Frowning, Dean worried his bottom lip between his teeth, finally nodding, relaxing his tense, angry body as he stepped in closer to Sam, hands sliding around the younger male's waist as he leaned up slightly, pressing his lips firmly against Sam's, mindful of the cut on the younger male's lips as his tongue licked it's way inside Sam's mouth, tangling with Sam's own tongue, a low moan breaking from his throat. 

When Dean kissed him, Sam moaned, good hand sliding behind Dean's neck to fist in his short cropped, dark blonde locks, lips parting in invitation, sucking Dean's tongue into his mouth as another low moan bubbled from his throat. He loved moments like this; when John wasn't home, leaving Dean and Sam the house all to themselves for a few hours. These little moments he had alone with Dean were probably one of the best things that he had in his life right now. Aside from his father, who he rarely ever saw anymore. John didn't really like him going out unless he was with him. Afraid that Sam was going to run away, or something Sam supposed. 

When Dean pulled away, both men were panting, soft huffs of breath fanning over each other's lips, foreheads pressed together. "Come away with me, Sammy," Dean whispered, his voice holding a certain pleading tone. "Let me take you away from him. Please, Sammy, be with me." Of course, he didn't really expect Sam to let him do it, propositioning Sam each time his father hit him, only to have the younger male tell him no. 

Hearing Dean practically beg him to let him take him away, Sam frowned. It wasn't that he didn't want to. Not at all. He would give anything to be able to leave with Dean and never have to see John again. But he knew if he wasn't here when John came back, the older male would look for him, and he didn't want Dean to get hurt. If John ever hurt Dean because of him, Sam didn't know if he would be able to handle it.

"I want to," he whispered, licking his lips. "More than anything I want to. But I can't. You know that." Pulling back slightly, Sam cupped the side of Dean's face, thumb slowly sliding up and down the other male's cheek bone. "If John ever hurt you, I don't know what I would do. And he would try. He'd know where I was, that I was with you, and he'd come after you."

Sighing, Dean nodded, attempting a smile, though it never met his eyes. "Yeah, I know. But I can handle him, Sam. And _you_ know that. If he tried to come after us, I could have him locked up so fast his head would spin. We have enough evidence to put him away for a long time, baby." Frowning, he gently, ran the pad of his thumb over the split in Sam's lip. "I can't stand it when he hurts you."

Slowly, Sam leaned in, brushing his lips against Dean's. "I know you don't," he whispered, nodding before he once again kissed Dean's lips, tongue slipping into his mouth to play with Dean's own tongue. It wasn't long before he was pulling back, hand falling to Dean's shoulder where he held on to the older male. "Can-Can we talk about something else? Please?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, taking Sam's good hand into his own, lacing their fingers together as he lead them to the stairs. "Let's go to my room. I want to make sure you're wrist isn't broken." He walked slowly up the stairs to his room, just in case Sam was in pain, finally shouldering the door open, tugging Sam past the threshold before closing the door once again. Dean then sat Sam on the bed, kneeling in front of him, taking his wrist in his own hands, gently squeezing it before moving it in different directions. "Does that hurt?"

Sam bit his lip to stifle the groan of pain as Dean moved his wrist about. It wasn't broken, he could tell, which lead him to believe it was just a bad sprain, knowing a fracture would hurt more. "Not too much," he answered, shaking his head. "S'just sprained."

Biting his lip, Dean pulled to his feet, heading to his closet, grabbing the ace bandage from the top shelf before walking back to Sam, kneeling in front of him once more. He then took Sam's hand in his own again, gently wrapping his injured wrist up. When Sam's wrist was completely wrapped, Dean brought the limb to his lips, kissing it softly. "Feel better, baby?"

Smiling, Sam nodded. "Much better," he whispered, allowing his good hand to come up and cup Dean's head, fingers absently carding through Dean's short-cropped, golden brown hair. Sighing, Sam leaned in, pressing his forehead against Dean's, eyes slipping closed. "M'tired. Gonna go to bed, I think."

When Sam told him that he was going to head off to sleep, Dean frowned, pulling back a little. He'd just got home, and now Sam wanted to leave him. Sure, the younger male being tired was understandable after everything, but it was a little upsetting that Sam wanted to leave him. "Sleep with me," he suggested, already pulling to his feet and getting the blankets situated.

Sleep with Dean? Like, in his bed curled up next to him, with Dean? It was a nice thought, but it was a dangerous game they were playing. Really, it was bad enough that he and Dean had fallen in love and were stealing kisses when John wasn't around, but to sleep in the same bed? That was really risky. And there was potential to be crossing an even larger line than they had already crossed. 

Licking his lips, Sam took Dean's wrist in his good hand, stopping him from messing with the blankets. "John," he whispered, shaking his head. That one little word explained why he couldn't have what he wanted. Why he couldn't be with Dean tonight. 

Dean frowned when Sam told him, not in so many words, that he couldn't be with him tonight because of his father. Who the hell cared what John thought? Obviously, he didn't give a shit about Sam's feelings, so why should they care about his? Of course, he knew it wasn't hurting John's feelings that was coming into play here. Sam was scared that John would find out and be pissed off again.

"Hey, John's not here, baby," he whispered, brushing his lips against Sam's. "He's at the bar, right?" Seeing Sam's nod, he returned it with one of his own. "He won't be back until sun up, then. We can set the alarm clock and you can get back into bed before he comes home." Leaning in, he kissed Sam's lips, hard and passionate, one hand moving to fist in the younger male's hair. "Please, Sam. Just want to know what it feels like to curl up next to you and sleep."

How could he say no to that?! Sighing, Sam bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah, okay," he whispered, kissing Dean once more. "But we have to make sure we set the alarm clock. If he sees me in here, he'll go ballistic. And I don't want him to hurt you, too."

"I don't want him hurting you," Dean muttered, shaking his head as he pulled the blankets down, stopping once he reached Sam, unable to go further without the younger male moving. Slowly, he crawled onto the bed, moving in behind Sam, arms wrapping around the younger male. His head dipped, dragging his lips across Sam's neck and behind his ear. "Come lay beside me," he whispered, hot breath fanning over Sam's damp flesh.

When Dean started dragging his lips over his neck, Sam tilted his head to the side, eyes sliding closed as his lips parted on a moan. "Dean..." he breathed, biting into his bottom lip to stifle any more noises threatening to break from him. He nodded when the older male told him to lay beside him, wiggling out of Dean's grasp before crawling up the bed, climbing under the covers. 

Dean smiled down at the younger male, mimicking Sam's actions before he wrapped his arms back around him, pulling him into his chest. "This is nice," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to Sam's temple. "Wish we could do this every night."

"Yeah, me too, Dean," Sam whispered, biting his lip. Maybe he'd tell John that he fell in love with someone else and he was leaving him. If John didn't know that someone else was Dean, then there was no chance Dean would get hurt. It would be a way to get away from him and be with Dean. Like killing two birds with one stone. "Alarm clock," he reminded, watching as Dean set the clock to 4:45 A.M. "Thank you."

Dean was out like a light soon after that, his arms still loosely wrapped around the younger male. Sam, on the other hand, was having trouble sleeping, merely watching Dean as he slept. He was beautiful even in sleep, reminding Sam of why he loved him so much. Dean would never hurt him. Not like John did. Sam knew Dean loved him, and you didn't beat up on the person you loved. John must have missed that little fact growing up.

Finally, around one o'clock, Sam drifted off, left hand curled loosely around Dean's bicep, soft breaths puffing out against Dean's neck.

**~~**

The next morning, Sam woke in the same position he'd gone to bed, save for the leg pressed between his own. Slowly, he blinked away the sleep in his eyes, yawning as he did so. He then looked at the clock, eyes widening when he saw what time it was. Shit! "Dean," he mumbled, trying to get out of the older male's grasp, wiggling and twisting away from Dean for all he was worth. "Ow, Dean, get up!" he begged. 

Feeling Sam twisting and writhing like he was being attacked, Dean woke, arms sliding from around the younger male as he watched Sam bolt out of the bed. "Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam's eyes snapped towards Dean when he heard him speaking, fear evident in their depths. "We slept in," he explained, quickly walking towards the door. "It's after eight, there's no way John's not back yet, Dean. He's going to know!"

Sighing, Dean climbed out of the bed, walking over to Sam, grabbing his elbow to stop him from moving. "Hey, Sammy, listen to me," he coaxed, thumb and index finger gently gripping Sam's chin, turning his head so they were facing each other. "This is all you have to do. Just tell him you were on the couch waiting for him to come home. And if he tells you he didn't see you, act innocent. Tell him that he must have missed you because you were there." Pushing Sam's bangs out of his eyes, Dean nodded, licking his lips. "Okay, baby? Can you handle that?"

Lie? Dean wanted him to lie?! Sam wasn't good with lying. John always saw right through him. "Dean...I--" Sam started, shaking his head. However, the look on Dean's face told Sam there wasn't another option. Biting his lip, he nodded, letting the older male know that he could do this. He could lie to John.

"All right, good. Go on out, I'll be there in a minute," he instructed, pressing his lips to Sam's softly. Grabbing the door handle, he pulled the door open, giving Sam one last kiss before breaking away, repeating that he would be out in a minute before Sam disappeared into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he walked down the hallway to the stairs. If he accidentally ran into John on the way down, he didn't know what he was going to do. It would kind of put a damper on their little lie that he was sleeping on the couch. Luckily, he didn't run into John, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief. 

Slowly, Sam lowered himself onto the couch, figuring if he was at least sitting there for a little while, it wouldn't be as though he was lying as much. After all, he was on the couch, at least. Hopefully, Dean would get out of his room and down here with Sam before John saw him. It was a nice thought, at least. However, Sam knew it wasn't going to happen. Especially since he could hear John coming down the stairs at this moment, the familiar sound of his boyfriend's boots beating against each stair as he came down. 

When John's figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Sam thought his heart was going to stop. He looked pissed. God, he knew sleeping in the same bed as Dean last night had been a bad idea. Why the hell had he let Dean talk him into that?! Apparently, that's what happened when you were in love. You got stupid. Fuck!

"Where were you last night, Sam?" John asked, his voice tense, as though he was barely reigning in his anger. "When I came home, you weren't in bed."

Sam licked his lips, frowning, head hanging as he played with a loose string on his shirt. "I-I don't know what you mean," Sam answered, shaking his head. "I was on the couch. I was waiting for you to get home, but I fell asleep. You-You must have missed me when you walked in."

"Oh, I missed you?" John asked, taking a step closer to Sam, hand curling into a fist at his side. "I don't think I missed you, Sam."

"Well, then I'd get my eyes checked," Dean growled, stepping up behind his father. "Because Sam was on the couch. I saw him there when I came home from the salvage yard." Angrily, Dean pushed past his father, taking a seat beside Sam on the couch. More than anything, he wanted to reach out and touch him, but he knew that would only get Sam into more trouble. And this was all Dean's fault in the first place, so to say that he was feeling guilty was an understatement.

John glared at Dean as he sat beside Sam. He knew they had something going on. Could feel it in his bones. But there was no proof, so he had to just sit back and wait for the opportune moment. Well, he'd just found it. "Don't you have to be at work, Dean?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't want to keep Bobby waiting, do you, boy?"

Dean smirked, shaking his head. "Oh, don't worry, Dad. I still have a good fifteen or twenty minutes before Bobby starts calling me and asking where I am." Scooting forward on the couch, Dean glared at the older male. "And I intend to use every one of them."

Frowning, John mumbled something under his breath, too low for either of the men to hear what he said, before storming out of the room and up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind himself.

"You really shouldn't make him mad like that, D," Sam mumbled, biting into his bottom lip. He'd learned a while ago that a happy John Winchester was much more pleasant than an unhappy John Winchester.

He knew it was true, but John just pissed him off when he treated Sam badly. Do you want me to call off today?" Dean asked, turning towards Sam and taking the younger male's uninjured hand in his own. "Bobby will understand, Sammy. All I have to do is tell him what's--"

"No!" Sam practically screamed, shaking his head violently. "Dean, no, please, you can't tell him! He can't ever know, please!" That was the absolute worst idea in the history of bad ideas! Sam didn't want his father going to jail because he had attacked John, or something.

Dean knit his brows in confusion when Sam seemed to lose it at the idea of telling Bobby what was going on. "Hey, calm down, baby," he quieted, one hand moving to brush Sam's long bangs from is face. "S'okay, we don't have to tell him. Sammy, we won't tell if you don't want him to know, all right? Just relax."

Nodding, Sam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mkay," Sam muttered, nodding once more. "You should, uh, go ahead to work. Don't want to get on my dad's bad side, do you?"

"Oh baby, I'm going to be on one of his worst sides when I take you away from my father. Which is why I think we should explain the whole thing to him, but it's your call. When you want him to know, we'll tell him." Sighing, Dean shook his head, letting his hand fall from Sam's cheek. "Well, I better get going. Those cars don't fix themselves, you know?"

Sam smiled softly when Dean told him that he was going to steal him away. If only something like that could happen. It would be paradise as far as Sam was concerned. Pure Haven. But it was just a dream. Something Dean said to make Sam smile, and it was never going to happen. Miracles, in Sam's opinion, didn't exist. And once you were in a bad relationship, there was no getting out. Well, unless it was in a body bag, which sometimes Sam wondered if that's where he was headed.

His eyes widened slightly when he felt Dean lean over and give him a kiss, wondering if Dean was trying to get them in trouble. However, feeling Dean's tongue slip into his mouth, Sam just didn't care anymore. Dean was the one he loved. The one he wanted to be with. And if John didn't know that already than he was more of an idiot than Sam thought. Sure, he might get hit and beat to a pulp for this if John ever decided that he was going to confront him about it, but this was worth it. To feel Dean's full, plush lips on his? Yeah, totally worth it.

"Bye, baby," Dean whispered, pressing his forehead against Sam's. "I'll have my cell phone if you need me. Bobby won't care if you call as long as I'm working while talking. And Sam, if he tries to hit you, or hurt you in any way, I want you to go to my room and lock the door. Then, climb out my window, the ledge is right beneath it and you run to the salvage yard. Cut through the woods, it's the fastest way, even though it's more dangerous, so be careful. Okay?"

Sam nodded when Dean told him how to escape the house if John tried anything. "Okay, Dean, I will. Now get to work. I don't want my dad disliking you before you steal me away. Then we'll really have problems." Chuckling, he shoved at Dean playfully, pushing him towards the door. He could imagine his life being like this. Maybe with a couple of rugrats and a dog? It would have been perfect.

Once Dean was gone, Sam headed to the kitchen, cooking himself up some French toast and bacon. Breakfast was an essential part of the day so he had to always remember to eat. Especially since he knew there was a chance John would attack him in the middle of the day and he would be either too sore or too upset to eat later. It happened so many times, Sam had lost count of how many missed meals he'd gone through.

After breakfast, Sam walked back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. He could hear John moving around upstairs, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know what the older male was doing. Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew John was pissed. And when John was pissed, he got creative. So, Sam wasn't thinking about it. Instead, he chose to think of Dean and how nice it had been last night to curl up in the older male's arms and just relax. It had been the best night of sleep he'd gotten in almost a year. Sure, Dean was kind of a blanket hog, but when you were pressed up against each other as close as they were last night, it really didn't make a difference.

The sound of boots hitting the carpeted floors brought Sam out of his thoughts, heart pounding in his chest so fast, so hard, he was surprised it didn't explode. This was it. The moment of truth. If John was going to hurt him, it would be now. After all, now was the perfect time. Dean had just gone to work, so there was no way he would be coming back to help Sam any time soon. And then John could leave for his nightly bar stay and wouldn't be here when Dean came home. 

As John came down the stairs, Dean's words replayed over and over in Sam's head. However, in order to get to Dean's room, he'd have to get through John to go up the stairs and then hope to God he made it to Dean's room before John grabbed him. And then, of course, there was the chance that John would kick down the door and get to Sam before he had a chance to get out the window. Yeah, now that Sam was thinking about it, Dean's idea was a really bad one!

He could always run. That was definitely an option. Get out of the house through the front door before John could get to him. But really, was Sam ever that lucky? Hadn't he tried that before? And it didn't work out then, so what made Sam think it would be any different now? Besides, it was too late, John was standing right in front of him now, and he looked like he was about to explode with anger.

"Get up," John ordered, glaring at Sam. Little shit thought he could use Dean as a shield and get away with it? Of course, John would never hurt his son, but Sam was trying to steal him away from John and get away in the process. Well, John would be damned if he was going to let that happen. If he couldn't have Sam, then no one could!

Sam frowned when he was told to get up, biting his bottom lip so hard he nearly drew blood. "I-I don't think I want to. I'm really good right here," Sam stuttered, mind working overtime as he wondered what was in store for him. "Why? Did you n-need something?"

His head snapped to the side with the force John put behind the backhand, Sam's already split lip once again opening, blood pooling in the open wound. Right, rule number one: _Never ask questions. Do as you're told and everything will be better for you._

"When I tell you to do something, boy, you do it! Don't ask me stupid questions!" Grabbing Sam by the elbow, John hauled him to his feet roughly, beginning to drag him to the stairs. One there, he pushed Sam onto the ground, his head smacking into the third stair as he caught himself on the second stair. "Now, get your ass up the stairs, Sam!"

Slowly, Sam pushed himself to his feet, now feeling a little dizzy. He could feel the blood trickling down his cheek from the fresh cut in his head, his mind going back to the earlier question: Was today the day he got out of here in a body bag? With his uninjured hand, Sam grabbed the railing, his other hand going to the wall to help hold himself up as he made the short trek up the stairs.

Once at the top of the stairs, John grabbed the back of Sam's neck, forcing him to bend at the waist as the older male drug him into a room, shoving him face first onto a bed. Sam scrambled to turn onto his back, knowing this position was much safer. John had never done this before. Usually, he would just hit him until Sam stopped moving and then he would leave. But this time seemed...different. Like John was about to prove a point, or something.

"I know you weren't on the couch last night, Sam," John assured him, glaring at the younger male. "You were in here. All night. With Dean. Weren't you, Sam?" Before Sam had a chance to answer, John gripped his face, thumb and middle fingers digging into his cheeks. "Well, you're not taking my boy from me, you little slut. And he's not taking you from me." Pressing more firmly against Sam's cheeks, John managed to force Sam's mouth open before leaning in, crushing their lips together, his tongue violating Sam's mouth. 

"You're mine, Sam," he spat once he pulled away, still not releasing Sam's cheeks. "And if I can't have you, then no one can!" Again, John backhanded Sam, smirking as the younger male's head snapped to the side, blood spilling from his nose. He then grabbed Sam's shirt, hauling him upwards so they were staring at each other, eye to eye. "Especially not Dean."

Roughly, John pushed Sam back down onto the bed, hands wrapping around Sam's throat, squeezing with all his might. He smiled as Sam's hands came up to his, fingers clawing at John's hands in his desperate attempt to get the older male to stop. To get him off. His face flushed due to his lack of oxygen, his attempts to get John to let go weakening. 

Finally, just when Sam thought he was going to pass out, John let him go, Sam coughing and gasping as his lungs took in much needed oxygen. He rolled slightly towards the edge of the bed, having every intention of getting up and at least trying to make a run for it. After all, he was going to die anyway, right? Might as well go down fighting. 

John gripped Sam's hips as he rolled, helping him along, shoving his face into the mattress as Sam uselessly struggled and writhed beneath him, muttering 'no' over and over again. Rough hands pulled at the fabric of Sam's sweats, tugging at them in an attempt to get them down past Sam's ass as John pressed his knee into the center of Sam's back, using it to keep Sam pinned. The older male growled in frustration when he couldn't get Sam's pants down, instead shoving Sam's hands which were holding them up out of the way before he shoved his hand down the front of Sam's sweats, taking his cock into his hand and squeezing roughly. 

Sam cried out in pain when John grabbed his dick, his hands moving to grab and yank at John's wrist in an attempt to get the older male away from him. Luckily, when Sam struggled and managed to get John off him, the older male moved to his own jeans instead.

No, no, no! This wasn't happening. John was not going to force him to have sex with him. They didn't even have sex when they weren't fighting! In the year they had been together, sex had only happened once! And that was because they were both really drunk, and when John came on to Sam, the younger male just didn't care at the moment and he had let it happen. To this day, he regret the decision. And now John was going to force himself on him?! Sam didn't think so!

"Get off me!" he yelled, hands pushing against the mattress in his attempt to get up, ignoring the pain that shot through his right wrist. If he was on his feet, then he had a fighting chance. There was a possibility to get away. But here, on the bed pinned like this? There was no way he was getting out of this! And if he just lay here and take it, then he would surely feel like a coward. Feel worthless. And if John didn't kill him when this was all over, Sam was sure he would do it himself.

So, no. He was going to fight tooth and nail until he couldn't fight anymore.

"Stop struggling!" John ordered, trying to hold down the younger male and work his jeans open at the same time. "I think you need to be reminded of just who you belong to, you little whore!" Of course, Sam didn't listen, still pushing against the mattress and trying to get away. Finally, John just couldn't take it anymore, slamming his knee into Sam's back before he pulled off him completely, once again working on unfastening his jeans. 

Sam's breaths came out in a rush, the younger male wincing as he was released. Using all the strength he could muster, Sam rolled onto his back, teeth clenched as he brought his leg up, letting his foot fly. He smiled softly when the heel of his foot connected solidly with John's nuts, causing the older male to cry out as he doubled over in pain.

He didn't have time to celebrate properly, though. Sam knew what he had to do. And this was apparently his lucky day, seeing as how they were already in Dean's room. Quickly, Sam rolled off the bed, moving as fast as possible to the window, tugging it open before tossing one leg out, straddling the sill. Home free. All he had to do now was run to Dean.

Or, so he thought. Before he knew what was happening, John had a hold of his sprained wrist, gripping violently as he fought to pull Sam back into the house. "Ow!" Sam cried out, feeling small bones in his wrist snapping as John tightened his grip, pulling him harder. "Let go!" Sam yelled, using his good hand to land a solid punch to John's jaw. Dean had taught him that. 

However, as soon as John let go, Sam wished he had been more prepared, his body falling backwards, causing him to lose his balance. He rolled down the ledge, body hitting the paved driveway, hard, feeling a couple ribs crack when he connected. But he didn't have time to focus on the pain. He needed to get the hell out of here and to the salvage yard. To Dean.

Moving as fast as he could, Sam pushed himself off the ground, legs wobbly at first before he managed to get his body back under control. He could hear John moving around in the house, so he knew he didn't have much time. Quickly, he set off at a dead run, taking the short cut through the woods Dean had told him about. If John was coming after him, it was going to be in his car, and he wouldn't be able to follow him in here with that truck of his. No matter how good his tires were.

Sam found out real quick that running through the woods in socks, especially when his entire body hurt, was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Sticks cut into the soles of his feet as he ran, turning the bottoms of his socks red with his blood. Luckily, Sam was pretty used to blocking out pain, so he didn't have to worry about it slowing him down.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, though Sam knew it had only been minutes, he was breaking through the clearing into the salvage yard. John was nowhere to be seen, so he figured that meant the psychopath hadn't followed him, which Sam was counting as a blessing. But Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew John didn't stay away out of the goodness of his heart. It was because John knew where Sam was going. And he knew that he could call Bobby up and act like he was the nicest guy in the world. Seeing as how Bobby and John were friends, he would be none the wiser, and Sam would have to go back. Unless Sam told his father what had been going on for the last ten months.

Hearing footsteps coming up from behind him, Dean turned, ready for a fight, if need be. After all, the salvage yard wasn't exactly in the best part of town, so it wasn't uncommon that some punk tried to rob Bobby. And Dean was here to make sure that didn't happen on his shift. However, when he saw Sam, his eyes widened, immediately pushing away from the car he was working on to go to Sam.

"Sammy," he breathed, looking over the younger male. God, he looked awful. A large gash ran from his temple across his forehead to the middle of his eye brows, his eye that had been swollen last night was worse than it had been before, and his lip was once again split. On top of that, he had scratches on his cheeks that looked like he had been pushed onto the pavement, and he was cradling his sprained wrist, which lead Dean to believe that somehow, Sam's wrist had been broken. And that was only what he could see. He had no idea what was under Sam's clothes. But he was going to find out. No doubt about that.

"What happened?" he growled, though he didn't even have to ask. He knew what had happened. John was pissed because Sam had been with him last night and he'd attacked Sam. The couch lie was a long shot, and Dean had wanted so badly to stay home with Sam today, but the younger male had insisted he go to work. And look what happened! "I'm going to kill him!" 

"Dean," Sam croaked, coughing slightly, breaths coming out in pants as his lungs attempted to draw in much needed oxygen. "Please, just don't. He's going to be calling Dad soon, and I need to--" Biting his lip, Sam hung his head, feeling tears of shame welling in his eyes. "I need to tell him what's been going on. Otherwise, I'll have to go back, and I don't want to do that." 

Nodding, Dean took Sam gently by the arm, being extra careful as he lead Sam into Bobby's house, not sure where all of Sam's injuries were and not wanting to hurt the younger male further. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he had to stop. "Sammy, wait," he mumbled, using his hold on Sam's arm to let him know he was serious about wanting to stop. "I need to know," he whispered, licking his lips. When he saw the sheer confusion on the other male's face, he rolled his eyes. "What he did to you, Sam. I need you to tell me."

A small frown appeared on Sam's face when Dean told him that he needed to know what happened. "Dean...can't it wait?" He got his answer when the older male shook his head, an apologetic look on his face. "Uh, he, uh, grabbed me and pulled me off the couch after breakfast. Then, he pushed me into the stairs, which is...where I got this," he explained, pointing to the cut on his forehead. "And then, when I got to the top of the stairs, he grabbed the back of my neck and drug me into your room. He shoved me on the bed after that and told me he knew I was with you last night. Called me a slut. A whore. Told me if he couldn't have me, then no one could. Especially not you." A tear slipped down Sam's cheek, and he brushed it away, sniffling. "Dean, he..."

Dean could see how upset Sam was as he told him everything that happened, and it broke his heart. However, when Sam stopped talking, Dean thought he was going to lose it. "Did he--" he started, too angry to finish his sentence. Taking a deep breath, Dean regrouped, biting into his bottom lip before he cupped Sam's cheek, thumb sliding along his cheek bone, wiping away the tear sliding down his face. "Sammy, did he rape you?"

Sam's eyes met Dean's when he asked the question, the younger male seeming so broken. Frightened. "No," he assured him, shaking his head. "He tried, but...I kicked him in the balls and climbed out your window. That's when he grabbed me and I think he broke my wrist." Shaking his head once more, Sam finished, "Anyway, I fell off the ledge and landed on the pavement, and then I ran through the woods to get to you. John didn't follow me, which I think means that he knows where I am and he's going to call Dad and twist the story. So, we have to tell him what happened. Before John gets to him."

Nodding, Dean lead Sam into the house, getting him seated at the table with a glass of water and some pain killers. "Bobby's in the office. Just stay here and I'll go get him." When Sam nodded, Dean headed to the office, grabbing Bobby and nearly dragging him from the room just as the phone started ringing.

"What's this about, boy?" Bobby demanded, allowing Dean to lead him into the kitchen. "If you ain’t lettin' me answer my phones, how am I supposed to run my business?!"

"Trust me, the person calling you is my dad," Dean assured him. "And you don't want to talk to him until after you've talked to Sam."

Bobby's eyes widened when he saw his son, confusion written all over the older male's face. "What happened to you, son?" he asked, brows raising in question. "You look like you went ten rounds with a brick wall and lost."

Sam bit his lip, wincing in pain as his tooth caught against the wound. "Uh, Dad, can you sit? Please? I think we need to talk." He looked over at Dean, hazel orbs begging for back up as Bobby took a seat across from him. Once Dean got the hint and took a seat next to him, Sam reached out under the table, lacing his fingers with Dean. "There's something you should know. About mine and John's relationship."


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you sure you want to do this, Sammy?" Dean asked in a hushed tone, hand running soothingly up and down Sam's back. "You don't have to be here for this, you know. I can get you out of here and Bobby can handle this."

Shaking his head, Sam gave Dean a soft, gentle smile. "No, Dean, s'okay. I want to do this." Frowning, he rephrased, "I _have_ to do this. I'm tired of being afraid all of the time, Dean. I just...don't want to be afraid anymore."

Dean pulled Sam in closer, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his temple. "All right, Sam. We'll do this. Just remember that you're not alone here. I'm going to be right there with you. Every step of the way."

Suddenly, the door bell rang, causing Sam to jump slightly. "He's here," Sam whispered, looking back at Dean. Slowly, he rose to his feet, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table, Dean sitting next to him, his hand on Sam's knee under the table as if to offer him some more support. Reassure him that he was here, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Hey Bobby," John greeted, giving the older mechanic a nod. "Good to see you again." Looking around the room, he asked, "So, uh, where's Sam?"

"He's in the kitchen, having a beer with yer boy," Bobby answered, thumb behind his head as he pointed towards the door leading to the kitchen. "Why don't you come join us?"

"Oh, I don't think so. I just came to pick up Sam," John answered, chuckling. "We have plans for later. Big horse race, and Sam's never been to one, so I was planning on taking him. Thought he might like it."

"It's one beer. It ain't gonna kill ya," Bobby urged, stepping away from the door to give John more room to get in. "Come on. And close the door behind ya." With that, Bobby walked into the kitchen, smiling at the boys before he reached into the fridge grabbing a couple of beers.

John sat at the table directly across from Sam, his chocolate eyes never leaving the younger male. He was so going to get it when he got home. It had taken John so long to get here because he had to ice his nuts after Sam kicked him. He just hoped there wasn't any damage done to that area. After all, he had plans for young Samuel Singer later.

There really wasn't much talking while everyone drank their beers. A small question here, and an even smaller answer there, but other than that, it was completely silent. Of course, the silence was filled with unspoken threats on John's part, eyes glaring daggers at both Sam and Dean for fucking everything in his life up at the moment. He was especially glaring at Dean, though. Little brat. He'd raised him, and now the kid was trying to steal his property?! Hell no! John wasn't going to let Dean get away with this.

"Well," John started, placing his empty beer bottle back on the table, "Sam and I really should get going. We don't want to be late for the horse race. I want to get good seats. Ready, baby?"

A chill ran down Sam's spine when John called him baby. Dean always called him that. It was natural; a nice nick name. However, when it came out of John's mouth, it sounded cruel and vicious. As though there was an underlying insult somewhere in there and Sam was just missing it. He felt Dean's hand squeeze his leg reassuringly, which gave him some strength. "I'm not finished with my beer yet," he argued, picking up his bottle and taking a swig. 

John smiled, though Sam could tell it was strained, like he was barely holding in his rage. "Oh, all right. Well, could you hurry up, please? If we don't get there early enough, we'll have to sit in the back and you won't get to see the horses up close and personal. And that's the best part of the races."

Before Sam had a chance to answer, the door burst open and three police officers walked through. "Police, freeze!" one of the shouted. "Put your hands in the air!" When John obliged, one of the officers walked over to him and began to cuff him while another spoke. "John Winchester, you are under arrest for assault and battery and the attempted rape of Samuel Singer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you."

Sam didn't listen to the rest of the words, not really caring what else the man had to say. A feeling of relief washed through him, and he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He was free. Finally, after the worst year of his life, he was free from John Winchester. It was almost like he was in a dream and he was afraid he was going to wake up and this was all going to be over. But for now, he was going to stay here. Even if it was a dream, he was going to make damn sure he didn't wake up just yet.

A man with a bald head, dark skin and a goatee walked up to the table then, his suit perfectly pressed and his red tie standing out against his crisp white dress shirt. "Samuel Singer?" he asked, looking to Sam, a small, apologetic frown on his face as he held out his hand. "I'm Special Agent Victor Henricksen, it's nice to meet you."

Taking the man's hand, Sam nodded, licking his lips. "Nice to meet you." Sighing, Sam asked, "So, what happens now?"

"Well, Sam," Victor started, smirking. "Can I call you Sam?" When he received the nod, he returned it, smiling. "Now, we take John to a holding cell where he awaits his trial. We have a really good case against him here. And if you ask me, you're not the first person he's done this to. So, if we're lucky, more of his victims might come forward now that he's behind bars." Gently, Victor clapped Sam on the shoulder, knowing the kid must be in pain seeing as how he looked like shit. "In the meantime, I think you should head down to the ER and get yourself looked at. I'll have an officer waiting there for you, and he'll want to take some pictures, if that's okay with you."

Again, Sam nodded, letting the other male know his officer could take his pictures. Anything to help get John Winchester behind bars. 

Victor returned Sam's nod, the smile still plastered on his face. It was always nice to get an asshole behind bars, in his opinion. And they'd been on John Winchester for about a year and a half now, but no one had ever come forth with any information. Until now. "Thank you, Sam," Victor said, shaking Sam's hand once more. "You did a good job. I'll be in touch."

**~~**

At the hospital, a nice officer, Officer Dodd, photographed the cuts and bruises on his face, the scratches on his hips where John's nails had raked over flesh in his attempt to get Sam's sweats off, and the bruising on his torso, indicating that he had broken ribs. Also, Officer Dodd got himself a copy of the X-Rays Dr. Garrison took of Sam's wrist, which was broken in two places, and a copy of the X-Rays of Sam's three broken ribs. 

The whole ordeal took about forty five minutes, and then Sam was free to go. Now, all he had to do was wait for the trial, where he would testify and hopefully, put John Winchester behind bars for a _very_ long time. 

Sighing, Sam pulled his T-shirt over his head, wincing in slight pain as his broken ribs protested the action. Having broken ribs was the worst, in Sam's opinion. There was nothing anyone could do for them except pump the victim full of pain killers and be done with it. Plus, it was going to be a bitch to try and get into a comfortable position to sleep in. Nevertheless, this is what he had to work with, and he was going to have to work with it. 

When Sam saw Dean walk into the room, he smiled, feeling his heart swell with love for the older male. If it wasn't for Dean, Sam was sure he would still be living in Hell with John. And for that, Sam was going to be forever grateful. As soon as Dean was close enough, Sam pulled him into an embrace, ignoring the way his ribs pulled and ached with the action. He didn't care. All he wanted to do right now was hold Dean and never let go.

Dean closed his eyes as he held Sam to him, careful not to hold too tight although he wanted to just squeeze him until he couldn't breathe. "You did it, Sammy," he whispered, kissing the younger male's shoulder. "You're away from Dad, and you're free."

Sam nodded, smiling. "I know," he whispered. "I'm free to do what I want to do without getting hit, and free to go where I want to go without permission." Pulling back, Sam's eyes locked with Dean's, a small determined smile on his face. "Free to be with who I want to be with. And Dean, I want that person to be you. If you still want me."

Smiling, Dean kissed Sam's lips, hard yet passionate, pouring all of his emotions into that one kiss. "Of course I still want you. I'm always going to want you. Trust me, Sammy, you can't get rid of me that easily."

Sam's smile widened when Dean told him he couldn't get rid of him that easily, once again pulling Dean into an embrace. "I love you, Dean," he whispered, holding Dean tighter.

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean assured, once again kissing the younger male's shoulder. Slowly, he pulled back, one hand moving to card his fingers through Sam's hair. "Come on, baby, let's get out of here. I, uh, didn't think you'd want to sleep at John's place, so I asked Bobby if we could crash there, and he said it was okay. Bobby said he'd get your old room together and we can sleep in there." 

"Mkay," Sam mumbled, taking Dean's hand in his own as the older male lead them out of the hospital. It was going to feel weird being back in his old room, but he knew it wouldn't matter. As long as Dean was there with him, he had no doubt he'd be able to deal with it. And besides, Dean had been right. Sam didn't want to go back to John's house. There were just too many bad memories in that place.

That night, after a long talk with his father about not telling him what was going on before now, Sam lay in his old room, his old bed, staring at the ceiling. It was familiar, yet at the same time different. Bobby had made a few changes while Sam was gone. New wallpaper, a few posters of old cars, but other than that, it was the same. 

A smile spread across Sam's face when he felt the bed dip beside him just before an arm slid gently over his waist. He turned slightly, glad that Dean had chosen to lay on the side of the bed so that if they were facing each other, Sam wasn't on his broken ribs. "Hey," he whispered, smiling as his own arm wrapped around Dean's waist.

"Hey," Dean answered, a smile of his own plastered on his face. "How are you feeling, baby? I mean, is this okay, or do you need me to move?"

Shaking his head, Sam tightened his grip on Dean, closing his eyes. "This is perfect." It wasn't long before Sam was asleep, head tucked into the crook of Dean's neck as Dean slept.

**~~**

The trial took place two weeks later. Sam hadn't known how many people John had dated before him, but a few of them had stepped up to testify along with Sam. He got to speak with most of them, and it made him feel really bad for all of them. Andrew Gallagher, the first man to be with him ever had dated him for three and a half years, being abused for two of them. Ava Wilson had been with him for three years, abused for one and a half of them. And Adam Milligan had been with him for five years, the longest of anyone. John had abused him for four years and nine months before he finally got out. Sam had the least amount of time clocked in that he knew of. 

On a happier note, with Sam and the others' testimonies, John was sentenced to fifteen years total of prison for all the counts of assault and battery, and another twenty years for the attempted rape charge. So, Sam wasn't going to have to worry about the older male coming after him for another thirty-five years. And with any luck, John would be too old to even try anything. After all, he was already fifty-six. Another thirty-five years and Sam was betting he'd be in diapers unable to get around by himself. 

An arm slipped around his waist, causing him to smile, his body instinctively leaning into the hard body beside him. Biting his lip, he looked around the now empty court room, feeling as though he was safe for the first time in eleven months. Finally, his head turned to the side, gazing at Dean. "You told me you would take me away from here," Sam reminded, smiling when Dean nodded. Repositioning himself so that he was standing in front of Dean, he caught the other male's eyes. "Do it now."

Smiling, Dean caught Sam's left hand, tugging him into the side of his body as he began to walk out of the room. "Where do you want to go, Sammy?" he asked, his arm wrapping around Sam's waist instead of holding his hand.

"Anywhere as long as I'm with you," Sam answered, smiling up at Dean. He heard his boyfriend mutter something about California being nice at this time of the year, but Sam wasn't really paying much attention to Dean right now. He was too busy taking in all of the facts. His life with John was over and his life with Dean was about to begin.

Sam was the happiest man alive.


End file.
